


if everybody says we did it (does that mean we've already done it?)

by pissedofsandwich



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: 2021 Tokyo Olympics, M/M, Social Media, clickbait interviews and thigh wrestling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:20:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26720542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pissedofsandwich/pseuds/pissedofsandwich
Summary: Atsumu and the great chase of his life, nine years apart.
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou/Miya Atsumu
Comments: 29
Kudos: 482
Collections: AtsuHina Exchange, stories that touched me





	if everybody says we did it (does that mean we've already done it?)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bastards](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bastards/gifts).



> from singularae’s list, i tried to mash socmed AU, canon-compliant, national team dynamics, and get-together to create… whatever this is. [head in hands] i also made an attempt at humor. i genuinely hope this satisfies you somewhat. if not, feel free to bonk me in the head, but do it gently.

**i. Prologue (2012-2013)**

Miya Atsumu is seventeen, and he figures out what love is when he has his ass handed to him by a no-name team from Bumfuck, Nowhere, betting on a new play he should’ve executed just a little sharper. _Love,_ he thinks as he trudges over to the bench, gloom setting over him. That’s what’s pouring out of Shouyou’s eyes. He’s never seen someone exude so much love for the game before, in an intensity that he thinks almost matches his. He watches his hands, red from the last failed save, and imagines his fingers extending to give a perfect set for him. He can see it taking shape, in the future. Perhaps they’ll both wear the same color this time.

He’s been a little greedy, he tells Osamu, and he watches the team on the other side of the net huddle and celebrate with each other, trying to decide what he’s supposed to feel. The defeat and awe are all mixed together, inseparable. He wants to make his captain proud. He wants to make the Inarizaki banner fly at finals, when he takes the team to first place. He wants to play another set, redo every mistake he knows now, clear his name. 

But most of all—

“Shouyou-kun,” he says to the little squirt, “One day, I’ll set for you.”

(He’ll be humiliated to know that for one humiliating moment, Shouyou thought _he_ was Osamu. That’s okay though; when Shouyou finds out it’s him, the number one setter in all of Japan, he doesn’t stop thinking about it.)

It’s a last effort at reclaiming the upper hand, making the promise. He feels something has been snatched away permanently under Hinata Shouyou’s fingernails, and he needs to take it back. “But before that happens though, I’ll make sure to kick your ass next time, so prepare.”

(“Last chance for the loser to look cool, huh?” Osamu jeers. He kicks him in the shin.)

He admits he’s a little slow in realizing. His defense is that he’s seventeen and a little dumb, hiding breakouts under stolen concealer from his mother’s second-tier drawer and nursing a hopeless crush on his childhood friend. The bone of self-awareness hasn’t grown yet, and he still prances around thinking he owns the world. He isn’t even thinking of his declaration when he goes to see Karasuno’s matches after, leaving shortly after Shouyou’s taken down with only a halfway disappointed sigh. He’s thinking, _if that were me, I would’ve won the game._ All the ways he would’ve tossed differently, would’ve served better than the timid freckled pinch guy, all the ways he could’ve broken through the immovable Hirugami. In the bus, on the way back to Hyogo, he’s still convinced that _he_ is all he needs to secure a win. 

He confesses to Aran on his graduation day because he is scouted by a professional team based out in Hiroshima. He gives credit to himself for picking such a beautiful backdrop; pink sakura petals falling, the mountains just obscured just so behind the clouds. He asks Aran for his second button, and when Aran meets his gaze apologetically, Atsumu’s ego is punched down two sizes smaller. He leaves school with his tail hanging between his legs, feeling like his chest has been bruised. He skips practice for the first time, cocooning himself inside a weighted blanket, and thinks about every embarrassing thing he’s done in the past year. He sulks in his bottom bunk all night, forgetting dinner, movie night, and teeth brushing, too pathetic to get out of bed.

He plans on staying like that the same day. Osamu foils his plans by barging into his room and prying him off the comfort of his cocoon. “You fucking idiot,” he says to Atsumu’s wounded pride, “ _of course_ Aran wouldn’t love you back. He’s way too good for you.”

With his wounds so fresh, Atsumu feels every word like a new sting. “Thanks, Samu, I definitely didn’t already know that,” he grumbles, burrowing himself back into his bed.

Osamu smacks a pillow into the back of his head. 

“And do you think moping around like a loser will make him love you?” Osamu chastises. “Look at you! You didn’t even brush your teeth before you went to bed!” Atsumu grunts, fully accepting that now he is as uncool as the losers he hates playing against, and resettles into his new fate. Osamu huffs out an exasperated breath. This time, he expects the pillow smack—unsurprisingly, it doesn’t make it hurt less.

“Quit hitting me, you ass!” he kicks out blindly, missing Osamu by a long shot.

Osamu bounces on the bed, jostling him. “Come to practice,” he says, pressing at his shoulder. “Come on. I’ll seriously disown you if you quit volleyball because of a stupid heartbreak.”

“Stupid?” Atsumu repeats, voice rising. “Aran’s the person who knows me best! He didn’t even make fun of the huge cystic acne on my forehead in our freshman year! Who’s gonna love me if not him?”

“I don’t know,” Osamu scoffs. “But there’s certainly _someone_.”

“Like who?”

“I don’t know! That squirt you proposed to at Nationals?”

It takes a while before all of Atsumu’s grieving brain cells make the connection. He waves it off. “That’s still way in the future.”

“Huh? What the hell do you mean?”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

Osamu brings the pillow down, but this time, Atsumu’s prepared. It hits an empty space where Atsumu’s head used to lay. Atsumu sticks out his tongue. “Ugh, yer really fuckin’ annoying!” Osamu complains. “Just go to practice, will ya?” 

Atsumu thinks about whining more. Thinks about the red-hot humiliation of being knocked out so early from Nationals, about how Aran’s rejection makes him feel numb to his toes. He thinks about the tangerine-haired squirt, jumping and forgetting to spike, then recovering like he didn’t just lose a point to his own stupidity. The fact that love is a scam hasn’t been disproved in Atsumu’s mind, but he thinks he can bear more volleyball if it means he gets to see the same thing in Shouyou’s eyes again when he sees him for Nationals next year (because Karasuno _has_ to make it, they just do). 

Atsumu huffs, flips himself around like a starfish on the bed. 

“Fine,” he concedes.

*

So he arrives late to practice, ready to power through a whole afternoon of killer drills and some mean-spirited taunts from Suna (because everyone knows he confessed, of course. The walls in Inarizaki have invisible ears; gossip is like a goddamn currency). Except—Kita tells him he’s the new captain now, and his mind does an impressive somersault into the land of emotional whiplash. 

“You love this sport more than yourself,” Kita says, simple as the weather. “You still have a lot to learn, but you can take this team to higher heights than me.”

“Kita-san,” he says, because now, in this moment, he realizes: he’s a part of something bigger than himself. No—he’s always been, but he hasn’t always thought of it that way. He treats his teammates like chess pieces when he should’ve been thinking of each and everyone of them as indispensable as himself. He gulps at the number one on the black shirt in Kita’s hands; he shakes, for the first time, at the thought of being at the center of something. 

“You are going to be someone that makes me say one day, ‘he’s my kouhai, isn’t he amazing?’” Kita continues. “‘Cos I’m counting on it, Atsumu.”

He takes the shirt with trembling hands. 

“I am,” he nods. Looks at Kita, who’s going to retire from volleyball after high school. He wonders if he will see him again—and Aran, maybe, and hopefully by then his hear would’ve healed even just by a little bit—but this time at the stands, cheering him on. “I will.”

“That’s a promise, Atsumu,” Kita smiles. “You should keep it.”

Kita leaves shortly after. The coach begins explaining his planned practice regime for the next six months, something about a joint training camp planned around the corner of summer break. Tokyo teams, local teams. Atsumu knows with the new on his back, he should pay more attention than he usually does. But his mind is somewhere else, racing a mile an hour. Back on the spotless court of his middle school, his teammates looked at him with nothing but disdain. They’d scorned him just as he did them. And he hadn’t cared, not a single bit. Volleyball was all that he cared about.

But he cannot lead a team that way. A leader must be dependable, a bastion of strength and trust. Solid like Aran. Deadly like Kita. What are the traits of his that are best suited for leadership?

He tries to come up with four. 

He scowls. Okay, two. 

He is dependable—but only when it serves him. 

He is—

What _is_ he?

“Oi, captain,” his coach says, not without bite. “Are you listening?”

He startles. Suna snickers at him. “Yes, coach,” he lies. The frown on his coach’s face doesn’t lessen, but he lets it go. He launches into a more in-depth explanation of their newest serve-and-block strategy. Atsumu’s mind still reels.

He clutches his new jersey, almost afraid to look at the number 1. 

_Goddamn,_ he thinks. _I need to change._

*

And so he does, excruciatingly.

He tries to be like Kita, at first. Suna narrows his eyes into slits, and treats him with suspicion for a whole week. A kind Atsumu is a recipe for disaster, so he retires the act for the foreseeable future. Then he tries to be like Aran, but realizes two hours into practice that he’s much too childish to be impersonating Aran. So he tries to take just the parts he likes best about their leadership—Kita’s steady support, Aran’s unwavering resolve—and tries to combine them with who he _thinks_ he is. 

He has no credible way of evaluating his success, but he thinks he’s halfway there when he takes his team to Nationals, past the preliminaries this time. He thinks someone in charge must love poetic justice, because at the quarterfinals, Inarizaki faces Karasuno once again. The squirt’s hair is longer, prettier. His build is sturdier, too, and when he catches Atsumu from across the net he smiles, sun in his eyes. 

“I still remember you,” he grins. “Atsumu-san.”

“You better,” Atsumu says. “‘Cos this time we’re gonna beat your ass.”

Hinata raises his eyebrows. “Yeah? Well, we’re unstoppable, too, this time.”

But Inarizaki is stronger, and Atsumu knows this. “We’ll see about that,” Atsumu says. 

He shakes hands with their nondescript-looking captain, then catches himself. _No one is to be underestimated, not in a team of crows,_ he reminds himself. He makes sure his grip is tighter, so his message gets across. Ennoshita Chikara doesn’t flinch. The referee flips the coin. Inarizaki gets the first serve. 

He prepares himself. The music is deafening. There, in the stands, two figures he would recognize in the dark: Aran and Kita, side by side, holding up miniature flags of their banner. They’re cheering along with the marching band, having made time out of their current engagements just to support him (look, he knows logically they’re here for the whole team, but he’s allowed a little delusion of grandeur on special occasions, alright? And today definitely counts as one of them. Let him be).

He raises his fist.

*

Shouyou approaches him in the bathroom, after.

“So,” he says, leaning against the wall. He doesn’t look too miffed for someone who’s been defeated. Makes sense; he still has a whole year ahead of him. If Atsumu had been the one to lose, he—well, he would’ve not been this chipper, to say the least. 

He has on his Karasuno jacket. He keeps his hands inside his pockets like he’s holding onto a mystery. 

“Still a long time before you set for me, huh?”

Atsumu’s startled, but he recovers by pretending to tie his shoes. Then realizes belatedly that it’s all velcro. He curses himself inwardly. “Well,” he says, trying to be smooth, play it cool. He catches his reflection in the nearby bathroom mirror and realizes his bangs are in the wrong direction. He curses again. What a fool. What a terrible, dumbass fool. “You gotta get on my level first.”

And laughter bursts out of Shouyou’s mouth, sweet and delighted. Atsumu hasn’t been drunk, but he’s pretty sure this is what it’d feel like—half-dizzy, caught in the sunshine. Moth to a flame, ants to sugar. “Okay, Atsumu-san,” and he is suddenly abashed, looking down and up, fire in his eyes. “Then I’ll make sure to get there before you know it.”

And Atsumu thinks, _oh._

Then, _oh, no._ Can’t he have romantic epiphanies in a less seedy place? Why must this be the place he knew, with all of the wisdom of an eighteen year old, that he’d live his entire life leading up to the moment this little shit becomes his?

“I’ll see you next time, Atsumu-san,” Shouyou grins, taking his leave. “I’ll be better then.”

Atsumu hopes it’s cool that he lets Shouyou have the last word. As it were, two seconds after his departure, he gathers water into his palm and slaps his cheeks with it. He watches the rivulets swim down the side of his face, dripping down into the sink.

This is it, he thinks.

Thus begins the chase of history.

**ii. the ongoing chase (2021)**

**Miya Atsumu** @bestmiya

good morning. but only to the sun.

24 Retweets | 4 Quote Tweets | 300 Likes

_Replying to @bestmiya_

**Ninja Shouyou** @hinata_shouyou

Good morning, Atsumu-san 🌻 

_Replying to @hinata_shouyou_

**Miya Atsumu** @bestmiya

🌞

*

 **Yaku Morisuke** @yakupaisen

Sheesh. Good morning to everyone except for Atsumu.

67 Retweets | 15 Quote Tweets | 459 Likes

_Replying to @yakupaisen_

**Miya Atsumu** @bestmiya

?? WHAT DID I DO 

*

 **bokuto’s insured chest** @B0KKUNS

call me yaku morisuke bcs i am too atsuhinaphobic 😒

4 Retweets | 1 Quote Tweet | 12 Likes

_Replying to @B0KKUNS_

**the b in atsumu stands for bitch** @miyane

im so sick of them if they’re not dating im gonna sue someone for public damage

*

Yaku's always have been only slightly demonic. Spending years in Russia around people who casually say "the dick is always thicker in someone else's hand" in reference to the perfectly family-friendly and understandable phrase of "the grass is greener on the other side" just changes a lot of his perspective when it comes to superficial things like pining or the entire Japanese national men's volleyball team.

Because he is certain that once upon a time, it is not a fuckfest of lingering touches and longing glances. Scratch that; he wishes this was a fuckfest, grave emphasis on fuck, instead of whatever... yearning bullshit his team's made of. Call it culture shock. Except it's more irritating than shocking him, because he thought he came back to play volleyball. Instead, he watches number 11 prance around the court trying to impress Hinata.

He glances up in distaste from the notifications flooding from his latest tweet. He wishes he’d skipped out on today’s supplementary morning practice. "Who's he again?" he asks Komori, who is exempt from this category of annoying yearners only because Yaku hasn't found out who he is yearning for yet.

"Number 11?" Komori asks, puzzled. "That's Miya Atsumu."

"Am I supposed to find him charming," Yaku says, because for all that his sets are sharp and precise, his personality... leaves a _lot_ to be desired. He _bends_ down to address Yaku when he spoke to him for the first time. That piss-yellow bitch is lucky Yaku was growing more benevolent with age.

Komori laughs. "Yeah, he's an acquired taste."

Yaku would argue that he's worse than that. Look at him leaking his affection all over the place. That's not a cute dog wagging its tail for attention, that's a dog humping the air in heat.

"He does have a Calvin Klein ad, though," Komori muses. "Won't stop talking about it the second it came out."

"Hm," Yaku says, because _Calvin Klein?_ That's drugstore, baby. Try Versace.

Well, no matter. It seems that the guy is somewhat halfway competent, despite the loud pining. After all, no one can resist Hinata. He makes even Yaku consider, before he remembers he knows him in high school as an overexcited little scrawny kid that has Kenma bursting heart eyes, and would therefore not be able to think of him as more than a kid brother. It'll wear off soon enough, once Hinata turns him down. Icarus cannot fly too close to the sun, after all.

"Yeah," Komori pipes up again. "They've been dancing around each other for months. Years? I don't know. We have a counter for every time Atsumu calls him," he pitches his voice higher in a fake Kansai-ben, " _Shouyou-kun!"_

Yaku does a double take. "Wait. They?" As in, what the hell, _Hinata_ is actually interested in that guy, too? Oh, no. Sweet baby boy. Yaku will find him better men.

"People say it started in high school," Komori whispers, like he's telling Yaku the legend of the great Wizard of Oz. "Atsumu confessed, Hinata went to Brazil, they played for the Black Jackals, Hinata went to Brazil _again,_ and now they're here."

Yaku thinks, _well, there's no way Hinata's half as bad, right?_ And then, as if on cue, Atsumu moves to save a ball veering too close to the wall and skids over the floor, getting up without noticing the blood dripping from the torn skin on his knees. Hinata gasps like he's the one with a minor injury. They stop the practice. Hinata pulls Atsumu court-side, sits him down so they're face-to-face. He says something in a hushed, low tone. Atsumu looks stunned as Hinata procures a clean towel from somewhere on the bench and applies gentle pressure to his bleeding wound.

And then, the sight that makes Yaku need eye bleach: Hinata kisses his booboo. Lips pursed, planting a soft kiss on the bandaid over the skin on Atsumu's knees.

"Yikes," the comment is blurted out involuntarily, like Yaku's mouth can't say it fast enough.

"And that's another one for the counter," Komori sighs, defeated over and over again.

*

 **Netflix** @netflix

Once dwarfed by his height, Hinata Shouyou beats the odds in his journey to become Japan's top volleyball player because of it.

Watch what his teammates say about him in Japan's #FLY — streaming only on Netflix.

[video]

*

 **INT. CONFESSIONAL TYPE BOOTH**

The scenes change periodically, showing each member of the JAPANESE NATIONAL VOLLEYBALL TEAM from the bust-up, deep in thought. There are:

  1. USHIJIMA WAKATOSHI (27)
  2. KAGEYAMA TOBIO (24)
  3. BOKUTO KOUTAROU (26)
  4. HOSHIUMI KOURAI (26)
  5. OJIRO ARAN (27)
  6. MIYA ATSUMU (25)
  7. SAKUSA KIYOOMI (25)
  8. KOMORI MOTOYA (26)
  9. HAKUBA GAO (26)
  10. HYAKUZAWA YUUDAI (25)
  11. YAKU MORISUKE (27)



**USHIJIMA** **  
**How to describe Hinata Shouyou in one word...

 **YAKU** **  
**Man, he's always been a goddamn monster.

 **HYAKUZAWA** **  
**Kind.

 **ARAN** **  
**I would say… ferocious.

 **SAKUSA** and **GAO** **  
**(split screen, at the same time)  
Sickening.

**GAO** **  
**(laughs)  
I mean that in the best way possible. He is seriously sickening. He never brings the same thing to the table.

 **SAKUSA** **  
**(stoically)  
I mean that in the most literal sense of the word.

 **HOSHIUMI** **  
**I will defeat him one day.

 **DIRECTOR** **  
**(off-screen) **  
**Um, is that a word to describe him, or…?

 **HOSHIUMI** **  
**(seriously)  
I will defeat him one day. 

**KAGEYAMA** **  
**(pinches his chin, deep in thought)  
One word… 

**USHIJIMA** **  
**Concrete.

 **DIRECTOR** **  
**(off-screen)  
Uh… do you want to elaborate? 

**USHIJIMA** **  
**(seriously)  
No. 

**BOKUTO** **  
**My best disciple!

 **KOMORI** **  
**Insane.

 **KAGEYAMA** **  
**A friend.

The camera PANS to and LINGERS on Atsumu longer than the rest of the team. He smiles wistfully down on the floor, then looks up.

 **ATSUMU** **  
**(softly)  
Everything. 

*

"Okay," Aran chews thoughtfully, "because you said glutinous rice, I expected something like mochi. My brain is kind of recalibrating a little bit." 

Osamu cringes. "Bad?"

"I didn't say that!" Aran says, biting into the last of the _lemper_. "I think the rice is too sweet, but the seasoning on the chicken kind of balances it out."

"Yeah," Osamu sighs, collecting the banana leaf wrappers with relief. "We couldn't get the rice shipped on time, so I used Kita-san's rice as a base. I think next time I'm going to add more salt to the rice. Just hoping it won't dry out..."

As Osamu starts muttering recipes to himself, Aran settles back in his seat, full and satisfied from trying out new food. As one of the Olympics' main food vendors, Osamu's looking to diversify his menu with various rice-ball-like dishes from around the world, and as the least pickiest friend readily available in Tokyo, Aran gets roped into being a taste tester. It's a task Aran's always more than happy to oblige—provided that Shirofuku Yukie, national team nutritionist, is kept in the dark about it. Usually, Atsumu tags along, a steady white noise that Aran's mastered at ignoring while he actually tries to offer some relevant feedback to Osamu, but it's just him today.

Osamu slides a glass of cold water his way. "Thank you for helping out, man." Then, once he's turned away, he grumbles, "Yer really helpful, unlike some people..."

Aran wants to point out that even if Atsumu were here, he'd spend more time whining about a missed play or Oikawa Tooru's general vicinity to his embarrassing crush of nine years than being helpful, but his heart warms more at this rare display of affection, begrudging as it is. Osamu misses Atsumu, that much is clear; Aran wonders if it violates some unspoken bro-code if he divulges that the reason Atsumu skipped out is because he is on a date.

... well, everyone on the national team calls it a date, anyway. Atsumu and Hinata call it "extra-practice." He puts in the quotes to exaggerate the literal meaning. Aran's not even a fan of being obscene, but even he is tired of their dance. Nine years, he laments, remembering the last match at Nationals, Atsumu and Osamu yapping about trying to look cool in front of the tangerine-haired menace. Nine years, and nowhere near a hand hold. Not that Aran keeps up with Atsumu's love life. 

Then again, there's probably something to be said about the chaste chase. No one treats a crush that tenderly if all he's looking for is an idle relationship—maybe Aran should stop calling it a crush.

So he says to Osamu, "Yer brother's in love."

Osamu rolls his eyes, folding his arms across his chest. "Everyone and their mother knows that," he scowls. "Might as well write on the skyline, if he's gonna be all lovey-dovey on a Netflix documentary."

Aran's spent entirely too much time with the twins—oh gods, and here he is deliberately subjecting himself to the presence of one of them, he hopes it's not some kind of mild conditioning reaction—to read between the lines, and with Osamu, the tells are not as frank. Still, he recognizes it as it is—concern.

"You're worried?"

Osamu's scowl deepens. He's never pleased to admit that he cares about his twin, a fact which Aran is too nice to agonize him with. He waits patiently for Osamu to gather his thoughts. His hands are busy angrily shaping rice.

"There's something flighty about Hinata Shouyou," he says finally. "And my brother's clingy as hell. You see how this is a recipe for disaster?"

It's true that Japan can't contain the force of Hinata Shouyou, Aran thinks, recalling the first time he reviewed his beach volleyball tapes. He's the kind of player that never stops chasing, and the world readily offers him what he cannot receive in Japan. In all honesty, Aran more than just sees how badly this could end for Atsumu. He dreads it, like he dreaded Atsumu's confession on his graduation day. Osamu's concern has a solid basis; as much as he loves to antagonize his twin, only a true sadist wants to see Atsumu heartbroken. It's not a pretty sight. Aran's sure it only stopped being an elephant in the room three years ago. 

“I can see how this could end that way,” Aran says, because when Osamu goes on a rant, what he needs first and foremost is for people to agree with him fully. 

“And who’s gonna hafta pick up the pieces when the idiot gets his heartbroken? Me!” Osamu complains. “He’ll crawl into this same booth and cry, disturb all the other customers, and I’ll have to close down for the day and lose half a day’s profits, then—”

“You can just turn him away,” Aran cuts in, just to test him. 

Osamu scoffs. “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course I won’t.”

Eyebrows up to his hairline, Aran smiles, covering it behind his palm. Sometimes, Osamu is so predictable.

A memory springs up to the front of his mind of a rowdy night-out sponsored by Yaku’s egging and what felt like a truck’s worth of booze and bad decisions. The ‘bonding night’ that ended in more than half of the team—Aran not included, because he is sensible—showing up to practice severely hungover and questioning reality, Atsumu suffering the most in particular, pushing through spike drills even when he’s green in the face. Aran remembers that his sets were still scarily accurate even then, and thought to compliment him before Atsumu stood up abruptly to empty his stomach’s contents into the closest trash can. At the time, they all had laughed, because it’s fun and easy to pick on someone as shameless as Atsumu, but Hinata had frowned, trailing after him post-practice with the sweetest look of sympathy. Atsumu, who always bloomed under attention, had moaned about his tummy hurting, and, indulgent, Hinata had proceeded to rub Vick’s vaporub on his stomach until Atsumu felt better. 

Aran was fortunately not witness to the belly rub session, but there were some poor, traumatized souls who were (namely Gao and Hyakuzawa, but the latter was far too polite to trash talk anyone), and there were pictures. In fact, there’s a whole album in the sans-Atsumu-and-Hinata LINE group chat filled with their disgusting displays of affection.

So the question on everyone’s mind is _why_ the hell have they not been dating, right? Aran knows not to assume, but he 1) knows Atsumu the longest in this team, and 2) prides himself on being emotionally intelligent. He reflects now on the teasing, the gravitational pull between their bodies. Atsumu may not have always been perceptive, but he is straightforward and without guile. Hinata, the beach hunk that he is, likely has a string of broken hearts following him all the way from Miyagi to Rio, São Paulo to Tokyo. And though Aran is convinced some days their brain cells are made up of bouncing volley balls, he is willing to attest that they at least have enough brain capacity to go after what they both clearly want.

So why not? 

He recalls again another memory. Hinata, comparing his overseas experiences at the izakaya table, flush high in his cheeks but eyes alert. Substituting alcohol every few minutes with a glass of ice-cold water, avoiding the greasy finger foods in favor of cut-up pieces of papayas, catching him at early hours of the morning on the grass patch overlooking the hills at training camp, meditating peacefully, in tune with his body and mind. Even with inordinate hours put in, he knows when to rest, when to stop and let his muscles relax. Attentive but sure, aware of his surroundings.

It’s very likely, then, that whatever concerns Osamu harbors for their relationship—or lack thereof—Hinata already thought of them before Osamu could even form the idea. If Aran puts himself in Hinata’s shoes, what would he say to Atsumu? Would Hinata be selfish enough to ask Atsumu to wait even longer?

But there’s something else about Hinata that tends to be overlooked, in Aran’s observation. His hunger is stubborn. It’s in the way he commands the ball, even when it’s not coming for him. He expects nothing less from the boy who upended his life to start at square one, even when it would’ve been easier for him to stay, improve on what he already knew. He thinks again of Hinata’s blatant care for Atsumu and decides that his hands are not the kind that hold things without purpose. Perhaps the push and pull is rooted in hesitance, worry of distance, but anyone who’s been in the presence of one Hinata Shouyou must know that this is a man who makes things work. 

With that, he takes another sip. He feels a rush of gratitude on Atsumu’s behalf. The words that Atsumu said to him at his graduation confession still ring in Aran’s ears, sometimes. _If the person who knows me the longest doesn’t love me back, then who will?_ Aran hadn’t been able to respond to him in kind back then, and he had watched Atsumu’s face fall in real-time, helpless to mend his broken heart. In a fit of desperation to fix the tatters of their friendship, he’d told Atsumu, “You’ll find someone.” He wonders now if the gods had somehow recorded it as a prayer. Kita always says they’re listening, anyway. Even when one has no needs for them.

“He’ll be fine,” Aran declares finally. Osamu stares back at him questioningly. “Don’t worry," he smiles, shaking his head lightly. " Your brother’s in good hands.”

*

**Cosmopolitan**

Videos >> Olympics >> New

>> open on YouTube <<

**TRANSCRIPT**

**Iwaizumi:** Um. I'm not an athlete, so I wouldn't know…? Why am I invited here…?

[funky jazz jingle]

 **TITLE CARD:** Japanese Men's Volleyball National Team Tells You How to Get Laid in the Olympic Village

[The team is divided into 4 groups. Group A: Bokuto, Yaku, Hinata, Aran. Group B: Hoshiumi, Hakuba, Kageyama, Atsumu. Group C: Hyakuzawa, Ushijima, Sakusa, Komori. And one single Iwaizumi Hajime, athletic trainer. The answers pan back and forth from each group, detailing various levels of knowledge in the hook-up culture.]

CUT TO:

 **Hyakuzawa:** Um. I don't think I want to answer this question.

 **Sakusa:** [gravely] If I see a condom, I simply burn it.

 **Ushijima:** [the perfect personification of chin-hands emoji]

 **Komori:** [head in hands]

CUT TO:

 **Bokuto:** Well, I for one have never seen a condom in the village before. 

**Yaku:** Yeah, because the moment you see a condom you close your eyes.

 **Bokuto:** Exactly. So I never saw one.

 **Yaku:** [visibly irritated]

 **Hinata:** That's cool, Bokuto-san! Shows how committed you are to Akaashi-san!

 **Bokuto:** [puffs out his chest] Right? Right?

 **Aran:** I don't think any of us is really answering the question…

CUT TO:

 **Iwaizumi:** Well. Uh. This is personally my first Olympics, so I really, really wouldn't know. But I wouldn't think it'd be any different from asking someone if they'd be interested in hooking up with you on any regular day…?

 **Off-screen, Yaku:** Anyone you want to hook up with, Iwaizumi-san? 'Cause I'm free—

CUT TO:

 **Atsumu:** It happens, you know? You put together a bunch of fit, good-looking twenty-somethings in one place with nowhere else to go, what do you think is going to happen? Not Monopoly night, for sure.

 **Kageyama:** I do like Monopoly.

 **Hoshiumi:** Me too!

 **Hakuba:** … anyway. Just get Tinder. Chances are you're going to get a match with someone living next door already.

 **Atsumu:** Condoms are, you know. [zoom in on his smarmy smirk] Olympic strong.

CUT TO:

 **Hinata:** Just make sure that whoever decided to have fun with, you're being safe and consensual! That's the first rule in anything!

 **Yaku:** [in a low voice] Oh, pretty sure in your case it’s all very explicitly consensual…

 **Hinata:** [laughs nervously] Well, consent isn’t a permanent thing, even if you partner —or _partners!_ —agreed to sex yesterday, it doesn’t mean that today it will be the same! Always be mindful of your partner’s needs—

 **Yaku:** Of course! I agree with you completely! In fact, I will demonstrate it now. [walks off-screen]

 **Bokuto** : Morisuke-kun…?

 **Hinata:** [flushes red] Wait, Yaku-san—

 **Yaku** : [off-screen] HEY, [CENSORED], DO YOU WANT TO HAVE SEX WITH—

[SCRATCH RECORD]

[LONG PEEP SOUND]

 **Aran:** [looks into the camera like he’s in The Office]

[CREDITS ROLL]

*

**Worldwide trends**

  1. Volleyball · Trending



**#WhoWantsToHaveSexWithHinataShouyou**

Trending with Cosmopolitan, Olympic Village

*

 **the b in atsumu stands for bitch** @miyane

the cosmopolitan video… many Thots

4 Retweets | 1 Quote Tweet | 6 Likes

_Replying to @miyane_

**Ninja Shouyou Superstar** @tobehinata

ELLIE… I’M THINKING SO HARD…

_Replying to @miyane @tobehinata_

**ritsuka | READ PINNED** @miyayeah

YAKU’S LOOKING TO THE LEFT… AND I’M PRETTY SURE IN ONE OF THE CUT-OFF SHOTS I SEE A BLONDE HEAD… I AM MANIFESTING FOR #ATSUHINA NATION

*

 **♡ aisha ♡** @1011go

[THREAD]

WHY THE MYSTERIOUS MAN WHO WANTS TO BED HINATA SHOUYOU IS MIYA ATSUMU, AN ARGUMENTATIVE ESSAY ANALYZING THEIR INTERACTIONS FROM 2018 TO THE COSMOPOLITAN VIDEO.

649 Retweets | 56 Quote Tweets | 3243 Likes

_Replying to @1011go_

**Yaku Morisuke** @yakupaisen

Your evidence lacks these pics. 2013-2021.

[photo] [photo]

[photo] [photo]

435 Retweets | 105 Quote Tweets | 948 Likes

_Replying to @yakupaisen_

**bokuto’s insured chest** @B0KKUNS

FDSKJFD OH MY GOD????????

_Replying to @yakupaisen_

**Ninja Shouyou** @hinata_shouyou

Yaku-san… Please delete...

*

 **Miya Atsumu 🔒** **  
**@bestmiya

he/him | Pro-Volleyball player for @MSBY_BLACKJACKALS

These tweets are protected. 

Only approved followers can see @bestmiya’s tweets. To request access, click Follow. Learn more.

*

 **MISUNDERSTANDING ARC** @miyane

he really went on priv…… i cannot take this anymore

10 Retweets | 1 Quote Tweet | 23 Likes

 **♡ aisha ♡** @1011go

With the onslaught of rude comments I want to make it clear that I made the thread in jest. I didn’t expect it to blow up, or for Yaku Morisuke himself to respond. I meant no harm and I hope all of you (esp the ones who keep threatening to k*ll me) understand.

*

 **Sakusa Kiyoomi** @skskiyoo_JP

@bestmiya answer your texts

400 Retweets | 35 Quote Tweets | 792 Likes

*

 **j is ia @ school** @meteorit_3

WAIT… WHAT IS THIS… A PLOT TWIST?????

3 Retweets | 1 Quote Tweet | 9 Likes

 **MISUNDERSTANDING ARC** @miyane

hdsjfFDSHFD HE REPLIED ATSUMU REPLIED BUT HE WENT ON PRIV SO IDK IF I SHOULD SHARE BUT FHDJGHFGK ?!!!!!!!! ALL IS NOT LOST MY DEAR ATSUHINAS

1 Retweet | 12 Quote Tweet | 40 Likes

_Replying to @miyane_

NOT Y’ALL RATIOING ME W THISF DSFJDSG GO OUTSIDE

*

_Replying to @skskiyoo_JP_

**Miya Atsumu 🔒** @bestmiya

why

_Replying to @bestmiya_

**Sakusa Kiyoomi** @skskiyoo_JP

you-know-who wants to talk to you

_Replying to @skskiyoo_JP_

**Miya Atsumu 🔒** @bestmiya

tell shou-kun i dont wanna see him

_Replying to @bestmiya_

**Miya Atsumu 🔒** @bestmiya

oh wait fuck

*

 **Miya Atsumu 🔒** **  
**@bestmiya

he/him | Pro-Volleyball player for @MSBY_BLACKJACKALS

Tweets aren’t loading right now.  
Try again.

*

Sakusa hates waste, the proverbial and physical kind alike. This is why the most distinct memory of Hinata he remembers is his downfall in the second year of his high school volleyball career. The fever, Goliath defeated by the young David, pulling him away from the court in his team's most critical moment. Sakusa only stayed after because Komori refused to leave before the match ended, still holding out hope, that somehow, this little ragtag team of crows could push through Kamomedai's faultless defense. Sakusa already predicted the loss; something akin to disappointment close to his gut, unbelievably underwhelmed by the team that managed to take down Wakatoshi-kun. He remembers thinking, _what a waste._

People who don't take care of their bodies are wasteful. Even when the squirt made a valiant comeback in his second year, Sakusa in his third, that's all Sakusa could think about—his fever. A doom of his own making. It's not a pitiful thing, though. Sakusa sees it how his mother saw him putting down his violin at the age of seven so he could play volleyball: an unfortunate thing, but inconsequential, in the grand scheme of things. He'd had many redeeming moments, after rebranding himself as a beach ninja, proving himself to be one of the most formidable players, a straight-up monster, and Sakusa eventually stops thinking about the fever in his first year. 

People often call him a too blunt jerk for always being straightforward, but really, when has being wishy-washy ever been beneficial to anyone in this life? Being vapid is a trait unique to politicians, and he knows they’re all liars. It’s an important value in his life to always be honest, and so, he always makes sure to voice how he feels when necessary. It makes for clear communication, clears out all, if any, misunderstanding. 

Today is the first time he looks at Hinata and remembers the fever, after a while.

It's the force of two of the dumbest people Sakusa's had the unfortunate luck of knowing: Hinata, the unstoppable force, Atsumu, the immovable object, and the tension that's thick enough to be cut with a bread knife. He feels like pulling off his mask, which is a horrible thing in this post-pandemic era, just so he could get a good whiff of air. Because where they stand, they have become a vacuum, a ticking time-bomb. 

Yaku, for his part, refuses to be blamed. And no one dares to, least of all Sakusa, who already hates that he has to care now about _Atsumu,_ of all people. He seems to think that given more time, someone else would've cracked and done the same, or done a variation of it—in Sakusa's version, locking them in a broom closet for eternity, so he wouldn't ever have to face them again in his life— _so really,_ he said in the group chat, _I'm just the brave one taking one for the team._

 _Alright, but now they don't want to talk to each other,_ Bokuto replied, with no shortage of sad and/or crying emojis. 

_We just have to force them to, right?_ Hakuba said, which according to Hoshiumi, in capital letters—Sakusa's eyes burn—is a problem he already solved with the foolproof plan that managed to get him together with his veterinarian boyfriend. Hoshiumi having ideas in itself is already a dangerous thing, but these are desperate times. Even Sakusa reluctantly relents, if only to stop the moping.

But they're all here now—the portion of the team that's due for another Youtube challenge video, anyway—in the JVA filming space, lights on and camera rolling, with a very stern Suzumeda Kaori, sports promoter turned PR manager for the time being, blocking the doorway, and all Sakusa can do is grit his teeth and hopes his sanity is still intact by the end of this.

"Today," Hoshiumi says to the camera, "we are doing another challenge! To prove once again who is the superior member of the National team! And we are doing…" he makes drum roll noises, _no, he doesn't pat his thighs or clap his hands, he_ makes _drum roll noises,_ "thigh wrestling!"

Sakusa's eyes roll to the back of his head. He wishes it could stay there forever.

"The rules are," Hoshiumi pulls out a piece of paper. It's empty. He's just pretending to read. "We will first go off in teams of two! Whoever wins will advance to the next round. The one who prevails to the end will be crowned the Ultimate Thigh Destroyer!"

"Wouldn't Bokuto just win easily," Gao complains.

"Wrong!" Hoshiumi yells. "It will be I who will come out victorious today!"

"Yes, but have you seen the size of Bokuto's thighs?" Gao continues to whine.

"Hey, hey, hey!" Bokuto claps his back. "It's okay, Gao, I think all thighs are beautiful!"

Obviously, they rig the process so Atsumu is automatically paired first with Hinata, which Sakusa can see is causing Atsumu some considerable crisis, but he doesn't try to trade off with anyone. Not that anyone would; they have been specifically instructed not to. The logic behind this is the idea that forced proximity will breed communication; though they are definitely underestimating how thick their skulls are. If this doesn't work then Sakusa will—he sighs inwardly—get his own hands dirty and try his method. He's counting that it won't come to that.

Kageyama and Hoshiumi go first, both hilariously taking this too seriously. Then he and Yaku, which takes multiple tries because he keeps letting Yaku win, just because he does not want to keep going. It's almost a relief when Yaku beats him. Then Bokuto and Gao, a match that has Gao howling in absolute murder trying to keep Bokuto's thighs from closing in on his, and Bokuto barely breaking a sweat. And lastly, Atsumu and Hinata.

They take their seats like the chair's burning.

"Um," Atsumu says, "do you wanna be inside or…?"

"Outside's fine," Hinata answers, a little too quickly, gaze somewhere off Atsumu's ear. He spreads his legs, hands braced off on the sides, and Atsumu, visibly gulping, fits his thighs between Hinata's. 

Why, why is that with everyone else, it's ridiculous and fun, but with them, it all seems so obscene? Where is that meteor when Sakusa needs it the most?

"On three!" Hoshiumi says. 

Atsumu babbles, "On three, or after three?"

"I said _on_ three."

"So that means right at the moment you say _three_ ," Atsumu says, clearly prolonging this for as long as he could, "not after?"

Hoshiumi frowns. "It's like, one, two, three—"

"On _three_ , right?"

"Yes! What is so confusing?"

"Just making sure—"

"Tsumu," Hinata cuts in, voice level and calm. "I got it. Just follow my lead."

Atsumu shuts up.

Hinata bites his lip. "Okay?"

"Okay," Atsumu breathes out.

And see, this is the waste that Sakusa's talking about. They're using words but they are not saying things that are important. If someone gets hit by a meteor, Sakusa wouldn't stand around and talk loudly about how pitiful they are; but if a meteor hits the two of them right at this moment, Sakusa would simply say they deserve it.

Hoshiumi counts to three, and they begin. Atsumu pushing at Hinata's thighs, a high-stakes feat judging from the way his muscles contract and bunch where they're exposed by his shorts, but Hinata's not budging, clenching inwards just as hard. To win, Hinata would have to make Atsumu's knees knock together, and right now, it's too close to call. The more they play, their serious face melts away, and by the two minute mark, Hinata's smiling, even when Atsumu's gritting his teeth.

"Shou-kun!" Atsumu shouts. "Gah! Are yer thighs made of steel?"

Hinata grunts, his hips lifting off the chair with effort. "Shut up, you're trying to distract me—" 

"Wait, you're cheating! You're not supposed to be off the chair! Get back down!" Atsumu accuses. 

“That’s not in the rules!” Hinata says in something that can only be described as half-growl, half-laughter. It comes off endearing. Sakusa doesn’t know how either. “You’re distracting me!”

“Shouyou-kun, if I’m trying to distract you, you’d _know_ —”

And just like that, the weird tension falls away, and they become who they are underneath: competitive little shits. Behind the stopwatch, Hoshiumi gives the onlookers a winning thumbs-up. Bokuto starts cheering for Atsumu, because he’s the kind soul who befriends everyone—bless his heart—and Kageyama starts cheering for Hinata, even though his encouragement sounds something like, “Boke! You can’t lose ‘cause I wanna beat you later!”

There’s a clinched moment where Sakusa is sure that Atsumu would win—objectively, it’s easier to be the one on the inside, to push rather than keep one’s legs open—Hinata calling out to his mother, sister, and late father for extra strength for the dramatics, then Atsumu yields, letting Hinata smash his knees together with a yelp. 

Sakusa blinks.

“I win!” Hinata whoops now, jumping off the chair so fast it topples backwards. In a show of sportsmanship, he offers his hands, palms up, to Atsumu, who grins in reply and slaps them with gusto. And then, as if only just now remembering they are supposed to be at odds, they look away, cheeks tinted red. 

That’s good and all, Sakusa thinks. But he’s almost 100% certain that just now, Atsumu _let_ Hinata win. 

Suddenly, he understands Yaku very, very much.

*

[video]

**Japan National Team Talks First Times**

2,859,666 views • July 27, 2021

  
“Saucy, sloppy, delicious” - Miya Atsumu. Guess what Japan’s second-string setter is talking about as the team shares their most memorable first times.

*

[min 2:35-4:57]

Q: “What’s the first English movie you watched?”

 **Bokuto Koutarou (BK):** I really don’t remember… maybe a Disney movie?

 **Hakuba Gao (HG):** Gotta be one of Audrey Hepburn’s classics. Roman Holiday, Breakfast at Tiffany’s…

 **Ushijima Wakatoshi (UW)** : I echo that statement. I have fond memories of watching Roman Holiday with my father when I was a child.

 **Kageyama Tobio (KT):** I think Avengers.

 **BK** : Eh? _That’s_ the first?

 **KT:** I don’t watch movies often. I only watched it because my high school teammates dragged me to the theatre.

 **Hinata Shouyou (HS):** Oh, yeah, I remember that day… wait, didn’t Fujioka-sensei make us watch that movie about burglars during Christmas for our English class?

 **KT:** … I didn’t watch the movie. I copied my assignment off of Suga-senpai’s old notes…

 **HS:** So THAT’s the reason why your English marks were so good in the second semester…

 **Miya Atsumu (MA):** Okay, not really answering the exact question but I think still relevant. Don’t really remember the first movie, but for TV series—Friends was my gateway to American pop culture.

 **HS:** Oh! Me too! That’s how I learned English!

 **MA:** I thought you learned from anime dubs?

 **HS:** A little of both, really. My roommate in Rio, Pedro, he had whole DVDs of Hollywood movies and series! I used to watch one episode per day before bed!

 **MA:** Oh, man. Phoebe is so underrated.

 **HS:** But favorite Friend—gotta be Chandler, right?

 **MA:** No! 

**HS:** Okay, well, debatable…

 **MA:** Okay, okay, but like, the friend that you would totally cut off—

 **MA & HS **(at the same time): ROSS!

 **HS:** Oh, man, who even _likes_ Ross.

 **MA:** The blueprint for all shitty leading men who deserve no rights, really. In terms of villainy, I think on par with Ted Mosby.

 **HS:** Do you watch How I Met Your Mother?

 **MA:** Unfortunately.

 **HS:** Gah! I hate that ending! We’ve all moved on from Ted! Robin belongs with—

 **Director:** [off-screen] Uh, guys?

 **HS:** Oh. Sorry, sorry.

 **MA:** Shouyou-kun, why’d you let us get off-track? [laughs] Our sincerest apologies! Let’s move on to the next question!

*

**iii. the catch**

**MISUNDERSTANDING ARC OVER???** @miyane

i CANT TAKE THIS anymore they rlly spent the entire video lost in their own world… get them AWAY from me

7 Retweets | 27 Likes

 **wina ☆ ia** @VIENETTA

THE HEART EYES…

[video]

56 Retweets | 3 Quote Tweets | 473 Likes

_Replying to @VIENETTA_

**MISUNDERSTANDING ARC OVER???** @miyane

im at my limit honestly 

**♡ aisha ♡** @1011go

as if we have RECOVERED from the thigh wrestling video WHEN WILL I KNOW PEACE HELLO GOD??? THIS IS AISHA ONCE AGAIN ASKING FOR A BREAK

3 Retweets | 1 Quote Tweet | 17 Likes

_Replying to @1011go_

**MISUNDERSTANDING ARC OVER???** @miyane

DSHFJFR NOT @ GOD THIS SENDS ME

*

Atsumu is twenty-six, and he has his hand stuck in a vending machine.

He should note that this is no ordinary vending machine, however. This vending machine is one of a kind, an Olympic special that serves hot food and exists only in the Athlete’s Village. To gain access to this machine, one must either pass the rigorous selection process to become an Olympic volunteer for Tokyo 2021, or become an Olympian. Proudly, Atsumu is the latter, second-string setter of the Japanese volleyball team, number eleven to Shouyou’s ten, who is simultaneously the love of his life and the bane of his existence. Who is presently crouched on the floor, clutching his stomach as he laughs his ass off. Not doing anything to help. 

It’s true when people say love can be so cruel. 

“Shouyou-kun,” Atsumu warns, but with his hand _stuck inside a vending machine,_ he really cannot have a leverage. “If you don’t call for help, I’m gonna be stuck here all night, and who’d set for you when Tobio-kun gets tired?”

He should probably mention that this is all Shouyou’s fault—if he hadn’t showed up at his room, wearing only pajamas and looking equal parts soft and mischievous, asking him if he wants to go for a midnight snack run, Atsumu wouldn’t be here at all. He’d be in bed, his phone clutched to his chest while he tries not to think about the temptation to scroll through his Twitter notifications. So, he wouldn’t be at a better place, emotionally, but physically, at least he wouldn’t have his arm stuck in a vending machine.

Also, the only reason why he decides to stick his hand inside at all is because Shouyou’s food isn’t coming out, and—well, he wanted to be helpful, okay? It’s not his fault he wants to do nice things. Shouyou is way too irresistible.

“I—” Shouyou cuts off with a laugh. “Okay, fine, I’ll text the group chat—”

“No! Not the group chat! I’ll never live it down!”

Shouyou snaps a picture.

“Shouyou-kun!” Oh, he has been mortally wounded. His dignity will never recover. “Don’t you dare share that picture! I will murder you!”

“Don’t worry, Atsumu-san,” Shouyou grins. “This is for my personal collection.”

He’s evil. He’s pure evil. Atsumu should’ve stayed not talking to this demon of a man. He wishes he never thigh-wrestled with him. 

“Aw, please don’t pout like that, Atsumu-san,” Shouyou coos, scooting over so he’s face to face with Atsumu. “I ended up texting Iwaizumi-san, and he’s coming to save you! Don’t worry. Besides,” he rests his head against the machine, the fluorescent light right in his irises, “I like it better when you smile.”

Atsumu’s too stunned to reply. 

See, it always gets like this, ever since Shouyou returned from Japan the first time. There are moments where Shouyou will say undoubtedly cheesy things to Atsumu, and he’d lose his mind trying to decipher whether he means it in a friendly way or he’s genuinely, seriously flirting. Shouyou must know by now that the size of Atsumu’s crush is comparable to the entire five continents, so is he being flirted back, or is Shouyou just… flirtatiously friendly? No matter what everyone else—and the entirety of Twitter—seems to think, Shouyou is a hard one to crack. And Atsumu’s too-self aware to assume.

“Shouyou-kun—”

“I’m sorry you got your hand stuck in a vending machine because of me,” Shouyou says earnestly, as if he can sense that Atsumu’s going to say something irreparable. 

Of course, because the brain-to-mouth filter has never existed in Atsumu’s body, he replies with, “That’s fine. Objectively, I’ve done dumber things in the name of love.”

His brain is a second too late in processing, but he can’t take it. Shouyou heard it loud and clear. His head snaps up, eyes widening. _Oh shit goddamn fuck_ , Atsumu thinks in the span of 0.1 seconds, and attempts to salvage the rest of his life. “Wait—don’t misunderstand!” He covers his face with his unstuck hand. “I definitely meant it in like, a bro way, kinda like Bokkun and Tettsun, y’know what I’m sayin’?” 

Callused fingers touch the edge of his hand and peel it away. Atsumu opens his eyes to Shouyou’s uncalculating gaze, serious as he gets before a serve. He swallows back the panic rising to his throat. “Did you mean that, Atsumu-san?” he asks, like he still _needs_ confirmation after—well, _everything._

“That depends on your reaction,” Atsumu swallows, “because if you’re going to reject me—”

It takes a while for Atsumu to process the subsequent clash of mouth as a kiss. Shouyou grabs him by the jaw and kisses him so fiercely, Atsumu thought for a moment that he’d been punched. But Shouyou’s mouth moves, ever so slightly coaxing his lips apart, and Atsumu wishes he’d been punched anyway. This feels like some kind of make-believe, being kissed within an inch of his life, right here in front of the Olympic-exclusive vending machine, with his hand stuck halfway up the pickup slot.

“Of course I’m not going to reject you,” Shouyou says when they pull apart. It feels like the kiss passes in the blink of an eye. Atsumu should do it again to make sure he didn’t dream it all up. “I’ve liked you since high school.”

Atsumu gapes. “No way.”

Shouyou makes a frustrated noise, burying himself into the crook of Atsumu’s neck. “Seriously.”

“What the hell! Why didn’t you make a move then!”

“Why didn’t _you?”_

“I don’t know, I didn’t know you liked me!”

“Atsumu-san,” Shouyou cups his face gravely. “I like you so, very much. Too much that I got stuck in my own head, overthinking about overthinking things. I’m sorry I let us dance around this for so long.” He takes a deep breath, and says his next words like softly, “I didn’t want to be unfair to you.”

“Unfair how?” Atsumu asks.

Shouyou lets go of his face. He looks down on the floor. “Well, I’m going to go back to Brazil in less than a month, and stay there for… the foreseeable future. Not everyone wants a long distance relationship and I didn’t want to force it on you.”

Atsumu blinks. He can’t be hearing this right. “Are you being _serious_?”

But Shouyou ploughs on, “I’m serious. Long distance relationships are hard. I don’t want to subject you to that if that’s not what you want. And I don’t want to confess unless that’s what you want,” Shouyou’s hands fall to his sides. “Because—because if I kiss you today, and you say you like me back, but you later decide that you don’t want me when I’m in Brazil—I wouldn’t know how to live with myself. If I get only a taste of you and not more than that. I’d get crazy, Atsumu-san. You know I’m too greedy sometimes.” He laughs, self-deprecating in a way that Atsumu’s never seen him before, and it’s all Atsumu can do not to attack him with a kiss until all the worry lines disappear. 

“Shouyou,” Atsumu says. “Do you think I’d care about any of that?”

“Wouldn’t you?”

“Well,” he hesitates. “Maybe. I don’t know. I’ve never—I’ve never been in a relationship before. A serious one, at least. Let alone a long distance relationship.” It’s hard saying the next words while looking into Shouyou’s eyes, but he forces himself to, because Shouyou needs to know how much he means it. “But—I know that I’ve never liked—” _no, he’s way past that,_ “—loved anyone this much before.”

Shouyou’s eyes hold an indescribable raw emotion when Atsumu looks back at him. His hand finds Atsumu’s face again—three times now, enough to become a pattern, Atsumu thinks he could _really_ get used to it—and tenderly, he says, “Atsumu-san, it’s so deeply romantic that you can say such sweet things while one of your hands is up a vending machine.”

Scoffing, Atsumu tries to pull away from Shouyou, only to be reigned back into his chest, Shouyou laughing over his temple. “And who’s fault is that, do you think?”

“Okay, okay, _I’m_ sorry!” 

“I feel like this is one of those liminal spaces that people talk about,” Atsumu grumbles. “Like, when you’re watching something and the scenario is so bizarre you’re sure this is not going to happen in real life.”

“Like when Danny Devito stripteases you in Friends?” Shouyou laughs.

“Oh my God, why would you remind me of _that._ ”

“It’s not that bad, really, once you get past all the—”

“Nope! Not listening to any of this! Is that—Hajime-kun! My savior! Over here! Please, save me from this demon incarnate!”

*

[photo]

Liked by **bestmiya, Kageyama_T, kodzuken,** and **1,034 others**

 **hinata_shouyou** the one where this dingus finally becomes mine.

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 **bestmiya** BETRAYED YOU PROMISED YOU WOULDN’T POST THIS

 **bestmiya** well whatever ur the one who chose to be with this dingus so JOKE’S ON YOU

**bestmiya 💓**


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